


Dark

by musamihi



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Fic, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musamihi/pseuds/musamihi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exhausted and on the run, Klaus and Dorian hole up together.  Dorian does his very best to be kind.  Warnings for homophobic language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark

Shelter came finally in the form of a hopelessly small hotel room, crammed wall to yellowing wall with a musty double bed and an old dresser with a gaping mouth where the lowermost drawer should have been. There was a light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Dorian's arm sent it swinging as he pulled his cap off to let his hair fall loose. He went to open the window. It was stifling.

"Don't do that." Klaus was sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to him, a cloud of smoke already forming around his head. His knees nearly touched the wall, there was so little room; and he had a dirty glass brick of an ashtray sitting to one side of him on the mattress, ready and waiting.

"It's hot as hell -"

"I said no. Don't fucking touch it."

Dorian stood and stared at the curtains, ratty off-white woolen things with little threads coming loose all over. He needed air. They had been walking - sometimes running - taking cover for what felt like the entire night, and he was exhausted and frightened. There had been four of them at the start. Now, two.

And Klaus had taken a nasty fall. He was trying to hide it, of course, but the pain had been evident almost immediately - and the way he sat, the way he drew breath and smothered every cough that came from every cigarette was telling. But pain, that was nothing new. Dorian thought it was the failure that was immobilizing him, but at times like these he felt as though he could hardly say he knew him at all. What did he know about this? He felt out of place. Young. Frivolous.

There was a click, and the light faded away with a pop. Klaus said, "Go to sleep." Dorian had become accustomed over the past several hours to taking orders, so he sat on the creaking bed. As hot as it was, he couldn't bring himself to so much as take off his shoes. He lay back, but could not close his eyes. One streetlight shone through the gap left by the curtains. He watched the Major's exhalations move with jolting serenity before the patterns of mold and sags that marked the ceiling. 

After some time he turned onto his side to watch Klaus, who was still sitting there as rigid as death, moving only to allow another labored drag into his lungs. 

It was hard to see him like this. "Major."

"Go to sleep." His hand paused briefly on the way to the ashtray.

"You, too. You have to be exhausted."

"One of us has to stay up. Go to sleep."

"Let me." Dorian sat up, and slid over to the end of the bed to sit beside him. "You're hurt, and I can't sleep."

"It's only a few hours." A cigarette sat smoldering in the ashtray beside his pillow, but he reached for the pack in his pocket.

Dorian touched his arm, and it froze. Klaus was staring at the wall.

"Let me stay up," he said quietly, watching his shadowed profile for a sign of - anything; but his mouth was flat, his brow was smooth, and his eyes were entirely obscured. "You need to rest. Let me help."

"I don't need your help." He took out another cigarette, and put it to his lips.

"I know you don't, of course I know you don't." Truthfully, he had no idea what he needed. If he had, he would do it in a heartbeat. Less. "Let me anyway. You need to relax -"

"Ja." The word came out halfway between a laugh and a cough, and Klaus's jaw tightened as his ribs drew in sharply. "Not going to happen. Go to sleep."

"I can help you." He wanted to, so badly. He didn't know what it meant, the dull stare and automatic disposal of cigarettes; he didn't even know where it came from, not really. His knowledge here was so shallow, so simplistic. He knew nothing. But he thought that it had never hurt him more that Klaus refused to let him help him. Klaus stared at the wall.

Dorian stood, and ran his hands back through his hair. It was so unbearably hot. He leaned back against the wall, the better to see the Major's face, and watched him burn through yet another cigarette. Underneath that brittle face, like a frozen lake, surely there was something. He had no doubt that it was dark, and he would have given anything to let him forget, just for a moment -

"Klaus." He sank down awkwardly into the space between the bed and the wall, only wanting him to meet his eyes. It was tight; it wouldn't have fit a piece of luggage comfortably. There were dense webs of dust floating in the corners. "Please."

Klaus didn't look at him - but then, in the dark, perhaps he couldn't have seen him anyway. When Dorian put his hand on his knee, he just let out another grey breath. 

Then he nodded. 

The tightness that formed in Dorian's chest brought a welcome cool with it, somehow. He knew he could be so good, so tender - and Klaus would forget, he would see something other than whatever was staring back from the other side of that wallpaper - so gentle, when he needed to be. A chance to show him was all he required. His hands were sure on his belt, but not too quick - no, never business-like - and he looked one more time at that face, before he arched his neck downward to take him into his mouth. Klaus's eyes were closed.

And knew he had taken him away, he had done him some good. The Major's hand, stiff on the back of his head, the click in his throat, something strained he couldn't quite suppress. He had shown him something, even if it was something fleeting. But no, it was not fleeting. It stayed there with _him_ , it had been with _him_ all along, waiting. He didn't know what he would see when he looked up again, but as long as it was something, not an empty set of eyes looking at empty paper - he thought he might be truly happy.

He sat back, finally, feeling very nearly peaceful. When he gathered the courage to look up, it was something better than peace, it was sheer joy - Klaus's eyes still shut, his shoulders slack, his chest moving in even, perfect rhythm. He had done it, as he had known he could. He leaned forward to brush back a strand of that damp, dark hair, the whisper burning inside him. "Klaus -"

Klaus slammed his hand away with a snarl and the ashtray in his fist. "Don't _touch_ me, you fucking faggot." There were cigarette butts all over the bed, ash falling through the air. Dorian tried to blink it out of his eyes, suffocating on the stench of cheap tobacco. His wrist stung miserably.

Klaus slapped angrily at the bedspread, shoving the debris onto the floor. "Shit." He threw the ashtray down, kicked his feet up onto the bed and fell back on his pillow. "Go to sleep," he said, sneering at the ceiling. He wasn't looking at him; hadn't looked at him. It was dark. 

Dorian stood on unsteady legs, and fought with the latch on the door before rushing into the hall.


End file.
